A Series of Unfortunate Cliches
by Cath1
Summary: A series of ficlets surrounding fic cliche situations. TM. Post series two.
1. Wake Up Call

Author: Cath

Title: Wake Up Call

Feedback/Reviews: Many thanks to those who have already sent a review for a fic. I greatly appreciate it. Would be more than appreciative of any feedback or reviews for this fic.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to people more important than me.

Summary: An early morning phone call. T/M. Ficlet.

Notes: Unfortunately, I felt the need to write a fic surrounding (what I deem to be) a fic cliché. Situation: T/M post series two, no one is yet aware of the relationship.

* * *

She looks in the mirror at her reflection and critically analyses her choice of outfit. Shorts and a scruffy t-shirt are probably not the ideal choice for the best restaurant in Los Angeles. 

Seconds later she is wearing a black dress; sleeveless, backless, knee length: both sexy and elegant. With sneakers.

Again she reconsiders, scrunches up her nose, and locates some black strappy high heeled shoes.

Perfect.

She exits her apartment and, seconds later, arrives at his. The fact that his apartment block is a: ten minutes drive away on a good day, b: looks nothing like this, and c: is not what they had arranged doesn't occur to her.

Tony answers the door and immediately she launches herself at him. It may be their first date, but screw it.

She pulls away and suddenly his apartment has morphed into CTU. Although that, too, doesn't look like it usually does. It doesn't faze her, however, and she leans in again to kiss him. He walks backwards, leading them to the conference room. Jack is having a discussion with Ryan Chappelle, but damned if they care as Tony pulls her backwards onto the table. Ryan and Jack look on, critiquing their performance.

It's about at that moment that she realises that it's a dream but it doesn't stop her fantasising. Except that she's mentally managed to convince Jack and Chappelle to get out of the room and so it's only her, Tony, and a Sinatra soundtrack.

"I've got you under my skin" is playing, Tony is slowly pulling her dress up over her head and all she can hear is the sound of Sinatra, their heavy breathing, kissing, and…. The phone.

Groggily, she rouses from sleep. She reaches an arm out of the covers, with eyes half open attempts not to hit Tony on the head, and makes a grab for the cell phone.

"Dessler," she mumbles.

There is a silence on the other end and she is tempted to either a: shoot a steady stream of expletives down the line or b: turn the damn thing off and fall back into sleep.

Instead she states her name again, more clearly.

"Michelle," the voice replies. And it is less certain than what she would usually associate with this person.

"Yes," she replies almost questioningly.

"Michelle," it repeats. There is a pause before the person gathers his thoughts or words and is able to speak. "I need you to come into the office for a meeting at three," he tells her. She looks at her clock briefly; it is just after 2:20. "There has been some urgent information that has come to my attention that I need the team to look over." Another pause; she is almost unnerved – the information must be of some concern for Chappelle to sound this unsure and uneasy. "So, I'll see you at three?"

She is suddenly fully conscious. "Sure, Ryan. I'm on my way."

There is yet another pause. And this one almost puts her over the edge. "Could you contact Tony Almeida and inform him of the situation?" Chappelle asks.

This makes her pause. Her eyes widen. She is not entirely sure why she is being asked this and it makes her feel uncertain. No one at CTU is yet aware of her relationship with Tony, least of all Chappelle.

Somehow she pulls herself together and assumes a confidence she does not feel. "Certainly Ryan, I'll let him know."

They hang up.

Her mind processes information, goes over the conversation again and again, attempting to make sense of it. And yet, no sense is to be made. Her immediate question is: why was she contacted prior to Tony, the director of CTU?

She rouses Tony from his sleep and doesn't immediately share her thoughts but tells him of Chappelle's request.

Unfortunately, his first question is: "Why didn't Chappelle call me and tell me himself?"

"I don't know," she replies. "He sounded… off on the phone. There must be something going on," is her lame deduction.

"Off? How?" he interrogates.

"The cell was ringing, I woke up, I answered, said my name and he didn't reply. So I repeated my name and he just sounded… I don't know, confused. Unsure and hesitant."

Tony mulls this over for a moment.

She places the phone on his side of the bed, pulls down the covers and starts to get out of bed.

"Michelle," Tony calls out after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes?" she asks, standing up.

"What side of the bed did you pick up the cell from?" he inquires.

She refuses to look at him; she realises her error immediately.

"Damnit," the curse falls almost silently from her lips. "Shit." This time it is louder. "Shit."

He regards her, almost amused.

"How could I be so stupid?" she asks herself. "Damnit!" she shouts.

He grins in spite of the situation. "Is it possible that you answered my phone?" he practically teases her.

"Urgh," she groans, practically falling back onto the bed. "Chappelle knows. Our careers are over," she says, almost dramatically.

"And he said nothing?" Tony asks.

"Nothing," she repeats. "Just that I tell you about the meeting. Because, obviously, I'd already answered your phone so you weren't about to." She groans again. She buries her head in his chest, hoping that she could re-live the last few minutes so that she would be awake enough not to make such an egregious error.

"So, we go to the meeting – separately – and see what he says. With any luck he'll wait until after the emergency before lecturing us on the impracticalities of intra-office dating," he nearly grins and she can't understand why he is taking this so well.

"That's it? We'll see what he says?" she balances herself on her elbows, leaning over him. "Why aren't you bothered?" she asks, quizzically.

"Michelle, we've been together nearly six months; I'm surprised it took this long for anyone to realise." He pauses, ready to make his case, which she is certain he will later repeat, as necessary, to Chappelle."We've been putting in more work hours than necessary, have not had called into question our professional conduct, and have managed to keep our personal relationship out of the office. If they want to make any changes, they're going to have a difficult time accumulating evidence," he informs her of what she already knows; twirling his fingers through her hair reassuringly. "But in order to continue with this good reputation, unfortunately we're going to have to get ready pretty quickly." He glances over at the clock.

She follows his eyes and observes the time. She quickly kisses him on the lips. "We'll get through this, right?" she comments, almost rhetorically, pausing as she climbs off him and attempts to leave the bed.

"Of course we will, sweetheart," he replies. He takes her hand and pulls her back towards him for one last kiss before she clambers out of bed. She gives him a brief smile before she departs for the bathroom.

* * *

End. 

If you enjoyed this particular fic, I'm contemplating writing a "series" of short fic-cliché fics, so let me know if you'd like to read more, and if you have any ideas for other fic clichés you'd like to read.


	2. The Fallout

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter Two: The Fallout

Disclaimer: Characters belong to a bunch of important people who don't know me. Hopefully.

Notes: Was overwhelmed by the wonderful response to "Wake Up Call". I'm so glad that you enjoyed it. Thank you ever so much to all who took the time to review.

This is a continuation of that fic, now part of the newly named "Series of Unfortunate Clichés". I've outlined several more cliché scenarios that will all take part within the same universe. This one takes place after "Wake Up Call", but (if all goes to plan) future clichés will take place at various intervals of time afterwards.

I do not take myself seriously. I do not take this fic seriously. No offence intended. Etc. etc. etc.

Feedback/Reviews: Are gratefully received and make my day 20 times better.

* * *

She arrives at CTU four minutes after Tony, having left at approximately the same time. She continued to mentally kick herself most of the journey for her earlier error, pausing only when some inconsiderate driver decided that pulling out in front of her, nearly causing a collision, was a good idea. The pause was mostly so that she could be as inventive as possible with expletives. 

Despite Tony's assurances that everything will be okay, she is not convinced and she will continue to mentally lambaste herself for any fallout.

She can only hope that Chappelle - after having been woken up in the middle of the night to come into CTU for some crisis and having to summon what appears to be a good proportion of the senior staff with the potential for having to work through the night and into the next day – is in a good mood.

Because that's likely. Internally, she groans.

Chappelle enters the conference room after the majority have already gathered.

He pauses before starting the briefing, shooting what can only be described as a look of enmity at Tony. "You received the message, then?" he questions.

Fortunately Tony, appeased momentarily by caffeine, decides to go with the non-confrontational route, nodding briefly and commenting, "Yes, thank you, Ryan."

"I will get my assistant to schedule a meeting with you. I believe that there is something we need to discuss."

Tony gives a forced smile, not wanting to be shown up in front of his staff. "Certainly, Ryan," he complies.

Chappelle appears to ignore Michelle. She's almost grateful for this and only hopes that no one notices and starts putting two and two together to get a balanced sum.

Eventually, Chappelle starts the meeting.

"Good morning. Thank you all for coming in so early. At 2am this morning I received some information regarding possible terrorist activity in the area; we believe that the threat is imminent. The information we're receiving is from a source we trust, although the veracity will need to be confirmed." A satellite image appears on the projector screen and Chappelle begins to point out pertinent information and explains details relevant to the threat.

Michelle feels a headache coming on. It's going to be a long day.

* * *

They work almost non-stop throughout the day, sifting through information, attempting to make sense of encrypted files, and monitoring key personnel before Jack makes decisions on the best action to be taken. 

At about two pm, Michelle takes a break and goes to make a coffee. She waits for the water to boil when Sam, a young, attractive blonde from IT, approaches her.

"Chappelle's in a bad mood today," Sam comments as she grabs a mug from the shelf. "He's been questioning practically everything I've taken to him all day. And I'm not the only one."

Michelle doesn't reply. She knows Sam reasonably well and usually will talk to her, but her headache is of the magnitude that she would prefer to crawl into a dark corner, take copious amounts of Advil, and sleep.

"What's Tony done to piss him off? The looks he's been getting all day... He must have been done something major."

"I've no idea," Michelle comments neutrally, shrugging, when Sam looks at her for a response.

"Really? I thought you two were very close."

Mentally, she irritably tells Sam to shut the hell up, but fortunately refrains from speaking the words.

"We work together," Michelle says as evenly as she can, attempting not to sound defensive. That would be the last thing they need right now: other people becoming suspicious and starting rumours.

She must only be somewhat successful in her attempt. "Oh god no, I wasn't trying to suggest anything! Although given half a chance I'd not turn him down," Sam comments suggestively. She practically sighs. "But then, he's at the top of the list for most of IT, so I'd have some competition." She grins.

Michelle forces a smile, willing the kettle to complete its task with a speed she knows that it isn't capable of, if only to find some way out of the conversation.

"You okay?" Sam asks after a long silence.

"Nothing a few Advil and sleep won't cure," she replies. The water finally boils and she makes the coffee. She knows that it won't help her headache at all, but at least it should stop her from trying to fall asleep for five minutes.

"See you later," Sam smiles as she exits.

She gives a half-smile before returning to her work station.

* * *

Chappelle schedules the meeting with Tony for 8pm, an ideal time to disrupt any evening plans that he might have had. Fortunately for him, any evening plans also involve Michelle, who is still working, not wanting to wait for the outcome of the meeting. 

The main events of the day have passed and Tony fills in the time by completing essential paperwork. He'd like to go home and sleep, or construct the arguments needed to persuade Chappelle that no changes to staff are necessary, but he can't give Chappelle the satisfaction of seeing a decline in his work.

He has had little contact with Michelle all day, both going out of their way to avoid any appearance of impropriety given the situation. He has missed the contact that they usually have, even if it is only in a work capacity. But when she calls him to discuss work-related matters, she ends the conversation by briefly discussing his meeting with Chappelle and wishing him luck.

He walks over to Chappelle's temporary office ten minutes before his allotted time but it is over half an hour before he is permitted entry. He suspects that this is more a political manoeuvre than the inconvenient phone call his assistant suggests. He tries not to let it rile him up as is probably intended, but he allows himself a few choice words to mentally throw at Chappelle before attempting to think calm thoughts. It doesn't help as much as he might hope.

Eventually, he enters, and is offered a seat.

"You know why you're here. I'd like to discuss your relationship with Agent Dessler. I believe that you're aware that she answered your cell phone this morning. I also imagine that you're not likely to be ignorant of the implications that can be drawn from this. Nor will you be willing to refute them."

Tony briefly considers a: making a sarcastic comment about having accidentally swapped cell phones at work, or b: telling Chappelle where he can shove it because it's none of his business.

Instead he does neither, and remains silent, waiting to see where Chappelle is taking the conversation before he makes things worse for himself.

"Unfortunately, it is not against protocol, but it is certainly ill-advised for superiors to be dating those in their employment and for good reason. And frankly, given the last time, I would have thought that you would have understood that."

Tony meets Chappelle's eyes, gazing impassively, unwilling to let Chappelle know what he is feeling, unwilling to give him any advantage. He tries not to let on how much he would enjoy inflicting pain on Chappelle right at this moment. Perhaps he could acceptably make some disparaging comments, he wonders briefly.

"Have you got anything to say before any decisions are made about your and Agent Dessler's respective positions within CTU?"

Tony considers his comments before speaking: he needs to remain calm and objective if he is to gain the upper hand. And not get fired for impertinence, disrespect, threatening behaviour, assault, etc.

"I have been in a relationship with Agent Dessler for approximately six months. I believe that our conduct in the office throughout that time speaks for itself. We are both committed to our work and it continues to take precedence over personal arrangements. We have not allowed our personal relationship to adversely affect our work, nor to have any place within the office. I believe that you will not find any evidence to the contrary. It would be a mistake to move either one of us at this point; we work well together and it would take time to find as effective and efficient a replacement for Michelle. Additionally, when you factor in the time necessary to get people up to speed both with the way in which this office works and the information that Agent Dessler and myself are aware of, it would unnecessarily negatively affect the work of this office for an indeterminate amount of time."

Chappelle looks almost disappointed at this information, he thinks. Or perhaps it is because he didn't inflict any violence, or threats, and hence Chappelle cannot legitimately fire him quite yet.

Chappelle has apparently concluded the lecturing part of the evening, seemingly bored that he is unable to toy with Tony and get a rise out of him. Or perhaps that is merely Tony's purposefully misconstrued reading of the situation.

"I will be discussing this with Division. For the time being I think it would be acceptable for you to continue to work with Agent Dessler on the understanding that if anything untoward or inappropriate is reported then the situation will be immediately reviewed."

Reported, my ass, Tony thinks, you're going to keep continuous surveillance on us. Two can play that game. He smiles beatifically, agreeing that it is reasonable.

Chappelle sits down behind his computer and Tony recognises this as a dismissal and leaves.

Returning to his office, he dials Michelle's extension.

"Dessler," she answers.

"Chappelle's watching us," he starts the conversation.

Seeing Chappelle's gaze on her, she does not turn to look up at his office.

"So?" she asks.

"We play like good little boys and girls and everything works out just fine."

She tries not to smile too widely. Her headache has dissipated somewhat and lessens more at this news.

"Meet you back at my place at 9pm? We can celebrate," he comments suggestively.

"You're on."

They hang up.

* * *

END. 

I intend for future instalments to be more fluffy/light/clichéd than this one, but people asked nicely for a continuation and I wanted to answer the questions for myself. Except that Chappelle wasn't willing to be very nice about it all.


	3. Celebrations

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter Three: Celebrations

Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me. And the DVD's belong to my brother-in-law, so I can't even claim ownership of them…

Notes: Again, thanks ever so much for the many lovely reviews. It's wonderful to know that some of you are enjoying reading.

This fic is not a direct continuation of the last (apologies to those who had hoped that it would be). I wanted to fully embrace the clichéd-ness of the series, and couldn't really do that by having a continuous narrative of events.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this part: it's one of my favourite fic clichés. Hopefully I've done it justice.

Feedback/Reviews: Are gratefully received and always appreciated.

* * *

To say that she hasn't particularly enjoyed the last couple of weeks at work may be a bit of an understatement. To describe them as frustrating and downright depressing may come slightly closer to the truth. 

She's despised the moments when Chappelle is at CTU and she cannot even look at Tony for fear of being moved to an office in Pittsville, Wisconsin. Although she is sure that Pittsville is a lovely place to work, the commute might be a bit of a problem.

Frankly, it has been somewhat hellish recently; not only has she been overstretched and unable to say anything about it around Chappelle other than "more work? I've love to", but she's had to scrutinise every single movement she's made. When on the phone to Tony, she has to ensure that their comments are kept brief and that she doesn't smile up at his office for fear of impropriety. When working with him, she has to keep more than a normal amount of distance between them in case Chappelle happens upon them and decides that they are not being professional. There are too many things – comments, body language, facial expressions, timings – that she's had to keep track of. Particularly since Chappelle has found it necessary to spend a disproportionate amount of time "overseeing" the LA office.

The effect that it has on her has been obvious to all: more than one person has approached her in the last week to ask her if everything was okay with Tony, or what had he done or said to piss her off, or was she okay?

She's commented something about workload and gone on her way.

But tonight she is allowed to be herself. Tonight she is able to take Tony out in public and smugly demonstrate to everyone how wonderful her boyfriend is, and isn't she lucky. Or, at the very least, she is able to go out and not have to examine everything she does.

Tonight is special. Tonight is their night. Tonight is their six month anniversary.

Unfortunately, they've spent the day apart: Tony has been in meetings at Division all day and she's been busy working her own job plus some of the overflow from Tony's office. And, joy of joys, Chappelle has been in residence.

The main resulting factor of this is that she has worked longer than she wanted to and now is late to arrive at the restaurant. She has had to run around her apartment, getting ready, finding jewellery, unearthing appropriate shoes, and ensuring her hair isn't entirely a mess. She is stressed.

He has already arrived and is seated by the time she enters the restaurant. Their apartments are in opposite directions from the restaurant, so it is deemed acceptable that they arrive separately. She looks around, trying to locate him, when the Maitre d' asks her to give the name of the reservation. As she is walked towards their table, she completely overlooks the group of women celebrating a 30th birthday while she has the chance to see them.

* * *

The group of women celebrating a 30th birthday have not, however, overlooked the arrival of Michelle. 

They have already noticed the director of CTU – where they all work in the IT department – sitting alone at a table, obviously awaiting the arrival of someone. Having each spent some amount of time lusting after the director over the past few years, they collectively wonder who he is waiting for.

This is a particularly enjoyable game since they are hidden from view by trellis fencing and dividing walls but are able to watch the table in case Angelina Jolie - or some other female deemed possible to be dating the boss - arrives.

The enjoyment factor is, admittedly, aided somewhat by alcohol. Zoe, who is celebrating her 30th birthday, is relatively sober, but is questioning the possibility of asking Tony for a birthday kiss when Michelle arrives.

Naturally, those who have the best vantage point report this to the others. Immediately they are able to surmise that Michelle is there to meet Tony. The only question is: why?

* * *

She arrives at the table unaware that she is being watched. Tony stands up and kisses her on the lips briefly, commenting appreciatively on her appearance before they sit. 

"How was work?" he asks. "Get everything completed for Chappelle?"

She sighs bitterly. "I need something to drink."

He reaches for her hand, brushes his thumb across the back of it comfortingly. "Chappelle been pissing you off?"

"No more than usual," she comments with a sarcastic smile. She pauses. "So, hell, yeah. But we're not talking about Chappelle. And you know why?"

He shakes his head.

"Because outside of CTU we're allowed to do whatever the hell we want. And right now, I want to be celebrating the fact that I'm finally not at work and can forget about Chappelle."

"And you want to celebrate the fact that we've been together for six months and you love me, right?" he asks, grinning.

"It might be a little about that," she comments almost coyly, before allowing a smile to adorn her features. "I've missed working with you," she pouts.

"You still are working with me," he replies, confused.

"You know what I mean. I can't even stand within 10 metres of you without worrying about what it looks like or whether Chappelle is watching us. And if I even dare to look at you when you're talking during a meeting…" she gets herself more and more worked up.

"Michelle, breathe." He moves his hand up to her cheek, stroking it gently. "Remember, no work."

* * *

The 30th birthday celebrators are caught a little off-guard by observing the intimacy between the couple. 

"Oh my god!" Erin exclaims, eyes wide.

"I feel as though I should be surprised," Sam comments neutrally after a long pause.

"You're not surprised?" asks Erin.

"Surprised might be the wrong word. Just that, well, if someone had told me, I probably wouldn't have believed them; but seeing it, it's different," she stumbles to explain.

"But then, Michelle has always liked Tony," Zoe notes, downing the last of her wine. She refills the glass. A little drips down onto the table cloth.

"She has?" Erin inquires.

"You've not noticed?" Zoe asks, incredulous. "It's obvious… Well, as obvious as she's ever going to get."

"I don't think he liked her, though," Em explains as she looks through her empty glass, obviously the other side of tipsy.

"I think that's been irrefutably disproved," Sam observes with a wry smile. "I think it's sweet."

"It's weird," Erin comments.

"How long do you think they've been doing it?" Em asks, holding her wine glass up to her eye as she twists it precariously between her fingers. The others look over at her and roll their eyes at each other.

* * *

Their anniversary celebration is going well. She has finally relaxed and they talk less about work and more about outside interests. They discuss the idea of moving in together, an idea which they have been flirting with recently. 

It is after desert that she decides that she needs to visit the bathroom.

She excuses herself.

Afterwards, she washes her hands and looks at her appearance in the mirror. She dries her hands and then returns to the mirror to reapply her make up. She barely notices the woman who stands beside her until she speaks.

"Having a nice evening?"

Michelle looks at her, trying not to allow her eyes to grow wide in shock. She tries not to get ahead of herself and assume that she knows more than she might.

"Zoe! What are you doing here?" she asks as innocently and calmly as she can.

"It's my birthday. I'm 30. Unfortunately."

"Happy birthday," Michelle offers.

"Thank you. So, what about you?" Zoe asks almost innocuously. "Hot date?" she questions. There is a brief pause, a glint in her eye as she queries suggestively:"Work meeting?"

Zoe particularly enjoys hearing the quiet but definite intake of breath the comment induces. She decides to continue, teasingly, since Michelle seems unwilling to engage in conversation.

"Of course, people might start talking if you were that nice to the boss in the office," she grins.

Michelle has no idea what her reaction should be. Instead, she forces a smile. "Have a lovely evening. I'll see you later."

* * *

"They know," she comments under her breath as she returns. 

"Who's they?" he inquires, hoping that this will also answer the question of what "they" know about.

"People," she insists. "People at work."

He surmises that people at work know about them. This is confirmed by her next action.

"They're over there." She angles her head to one side to indicate the general direction of the "people". He sees them immediately and nearly groans at the concept that they have been there all evening and he didn't see them.

He says nothing for a moment, instead ponders the potential meaning of "people at work" knowing.

"Well," he sighs, before a slight grin appears on his features. "There goes the plan of life long anonymity, a secret wedding, and pretending that you don't know who the baby's father is… Completely interferes with my plan of serial dating to ensure people weren't suspicious."

She laughs but tries not to. She lightly hits him. "Tony, this is serious."

"Yes, we can go to work together and not spend all evening apart at the Christmas party wishing we were back at home, watching a DVD together. It really is terrible."

"Tony," she warns, half seriously.

He looks at her, his head tilts to one side. He takes her left hand. "Michelle, I love you. We shouldn't have to hide it. We're not doing anything wrong. Eventually even Chappelle's going to accept it."

"People will talk," she insists.

"Let them," he replies. He stands up, takes her by the hand, drawing her closer to him. "I have an anniversary present for you," he whispers into her ear, trying to distract her from her worrying. "But it's at my apartment."

She briefly looks over at the direction of the 30th birthday party and decides to ignore them.

"Well, I guess I'll have to come back with you then," she comments wryly.

After paying they go outside and walk a few meters, until out of sight of the people in the restaurant.

He stops, turns towards her, places one hand behind her head, and kisses her deeply. "Happy anniversary," he whispers.

* * *

END

Hope you enjoyed. Also hope that it's not too fluffy. If so, will have to immediately remedy through angst and action and plot. Gah!


	4. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter Four: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Disclaimer: There are a few things in life that belong to me. People, places or objects from 24 are not among them.

Notes: Really appreciate all the feedback and reviews that you've taken the time to write. You've given me some excellent ideas! And also the motivation to write at a very rapid speed. Am fast becoming a feedback whore; but the less said about that the better.

Anyway, here, for your reading pleasure only, is the latest fic cliché. Hope you enjoy reading.

Feedback/Reviews: make my day.

* * *

She is not sure whether she would deem the last month to be more bearable than the previous when Chappelle discovered their relationship, or worse. 

There has been some progress. She is no longer as afraid to demonstrate around CTU that she is aware of who Tony is, since Chappelle's interest waned approximately a month after his discovery. At work there has been more than one rift and debate in their professional relationship, which, having been dealt with satisfactorily, seems to have gratified Chappelle and allowed him to understand that their relationship at work is nothing but professional.

This means that she has allowed herself to relax a little: to stand about five meters from Tony and not ten; to look at him for up to ten seconds when he is talking during a conference or meeting; to talk to him in his office for up to ten minutes. At some point, she may even allow a small amount of the personal relationship back into the office – the ability to touch him, for example, or allowing herself to smile at him once in a while – but at the moment she is still acutely aware of appearances.

Of course, this has not been helped by the influx of rumours that have arisen since that fated day at the restaurant.

She is less bothered by the rumours than she was by Chappelle's surveillance, as gossip will not affect her job, only her job satisfaction. But still, they put her slightly on edge. This bothers her, as she has always prided herself on the fact that she really didn't care what people thought about her.

It has been more the insinuation than direct rumour that has bothered her. She recalls one comment to Tony, inquiring what he had done over the weekend, before a quick, but conspicuous, glance over at Michelle. Very subtle, she had thought at the time, but she said nothing. Instead, she fumed inside. In reality she is more bothered that she allowed herself to become irate about the implication.

Tonight is an event that she is not looking forward to, unusually. In the past it was an opportunity to socialise and catch up with colleagues; to get close to Tony in a social manner; to allow others to understand that even management can be human.

Tonight, however, she would rather not catch up with colleagues, would rather not be in a social situation with Tony and really would prefer to demonstrate that management aren't in fact human. As she is sure that all employees believe anyway.

Sadly, the Christmas party is something she cannot get out of. No matter how hard she tries. And she has tried hard.

Instead, she has received – much to her consternation – advice from Tony on how to psyche herself up for the event and how to survive it happily. Of course, this advice caused her only to glare in his direction and insist that he was never to impart such crap advice again.

All this has led to where she is right at this moment: outside the venue where this year's Christmas party is being held, with Tony.

Frankly, she's more than a little pissed that he wouldn't accept her offer of working this evening.

Mentally, she uses the techniques advised by Tony to psyche herself up for entering with the boss. Of course, he will never find out that she is using these techniques.

They enter together, no overt declaration of togetherness, but it is enough to give additional evidence and substance to the rumours that have plagued the office recently.

She only hopes that people will get over their obsession by observing the reality.

She hates being centre of attention and quickly locates a few of her colleagues among whom she can legitimately hide. Tony offers to buy her a drink, and she accepts willingly. She will need more than one to survive the evening. He also offers to buy the others drinks and she is glad of this, as it makes her feel as though she stands out less obviously.

He returns later with the drinks, which all gratefully receive, then comments to her that he is going to talk to Jack. Of course, informing her of his actions in addition to their entering together cause her friends' imaginations and curiosity to go into overdrive and they immediately pepper her with looks and, eventually, questions.

"So, I heard something the other day," Casey comments, attempting to exert an air of nonchalance. "Erin in IT was suggesting that you were seeing Tony."

Immediately, all eyes are on her, and she looks back, openly. Much to their obvious irritation, she neither confirms nor denies this report.

Casey hence continues. "Of course, I told her that there was no way you would be interested in Tony," she teases, attempting to bait Michelle into disagreeing and eventually answering them.

Michelle sees the comment for what it is. "Erin might be right," she tells them quietly, confirming their suspicions.

This provides her with an array of congratulatory wishes and warnings about perils inherent in dating the boss.

They ask her questions about how long she has been seeing him, how serious is it, have they moved in together, what do the powers that be think about it?

Embarrassed, she fiddles with her necklace. It is the one that he bought her as part of her anniversary present. She moves it from side to side, and twists it on its chain. She drinks from her wine glass. She answers some questions, but dodges others. She dislikes the attention; is wary of concentrating on personal matters.

* * *

Later, she manages to free herself of the attention and walks over to join Tony in his conversation with Jack. Even though they are not at work and she can legitimately have contact with him, she is aware that people are watching them. 

Placing his arm around her waist, it is obvious to her that he doesn't care so much. She smiles slightly.

She joins in the conversation.

* * *

She drinks some amount of alcohol over the evening, although far less than her other celebratory colleagues. She drinks enough that she is not drunk, but merely happily chilled. 

Hence, when she attempts to find Tony for the second time that evening, she is more relaxed. Of course, relaxed may be a little understated. He sits in a group of CTU employees and she walks up to him, draping her arms around his shoulders from behind.

It is quite obvious at this point to even the most unobservant of people that they are not just co-workers. Unless it is assumed that she is being incredibly amorous in her inebriated state of mind and has decided that draping ones arms around the boss is an acceptable thing to do.

She sits down next to him, dragging her stool closer so that it is inevitable that various parts of their bodies touch.

He turns towards her so that their legs meet, and she moves her hands from his shoulders to his legs.

"Are you having an enjoyable evening?" he asks, having been earlier concerned that her only wish was to leave as rapidly as possible.

She moves closer, placing her head on his shoulder.

"As far as Christmas parties go, it's not too bad. But then, it's possible that I might be a little bit drunk," she whispers as though it is the greatest secret when, in fact, it is immediately obvious.

He absent-mindedly strokes her hair. "You're not bothered that everyone can see us?" he questions.

"Screw 'em," she comments, pulling her head from his shoulder. "It's not often that this will happen, but this time – and this time only – I'm going to allow you to be right. I love you. We're allowed to do this. Fuck it; who cares if anyone else knows?"

He laughs slightly at her more relaxed state, knowing, as he should by now, that intoxication causes her to be less guarded in both her language and feelings. Not that she can not be affectionate when they are alone, but he understands her earlier reticence at "going public" and being overly demonstrative when others are around, watching them.

"It's probably a good thing that you don't care because I'm sure that everyone else does know now," he comments. "And they're probably all looking at us."

She smiles, then moves her head closer to his, kissing him briefly. "Tomorrow I might care. But right now? They can look as much as they want. But that's as much as they're getting."

He laughs again.

* * *

Her friends look on at the scene before them. 

"See, I told you," says Erin. "They've been together for months. Chappelle isn't happy, from what I've heard."

Casey shrugs. "So what," she replies, turning back towards the group. "They look happy. Let them be." She thinks about the differences in her colleague as of late. Okay, so recently she'd been more uptight at work, but before that, for a number of months, she'd been more… relaxed. More content. Still concerned and concentrating on work, but able to approach it in a more positive manner. At least most of the time. To be honest, she'd almost envied her.

Looking at her now, seeing her interacting with Tony, she certainly envies her.

Erin, slightly put out, attempts to tell her some more outrageous gossip about Chase, the newest member of the team.

Casey bites her lip, attempting not to laugh at the fickle nature of the rumour-mill. Within seconds, the group are enthralled by the latest story and almost entirely forget about their preoccupation with Tony and Michelle.

* * *

It is after eleven when they leave. They would have stayed later but will have to be at work in the morning. 

There may be glances at them tomorrow; their behaviour around each other may be scrutinised, but it is nothing that they are not used to now.

He puts his arm round her shoulder in plain view of all as they exit. Tomorrow they will return to their work personas and all will be as it was.

"Well, that didn't go as badly as you were anticipating," he notes with a smile once they have exited.

"We survived," she admits begrudgingly.

"We did more than survive, sweetheart," he remarks. There is a pause. "So, now that everyone knows, there's no reason that we can't move in together," he grins.

"Not as long as you can't clean up after yourself," she murmurs.

He decides not to argue against the comment; it can be saved for later. "So, if I can clean up, we can start looking for somewhere to live?" he asks.

She pretends to think about it for a minute. "Yeah," she replies.

He pulls her in closer to him, kisses her head. "Good," he comments. "We can go back to mine, I'll clean up, and we can look for places after work tomorrow."

She laughs.

* * *

End. 

More fluff ensues sometime soon.


	5. Moving Day

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Part Five: Moving Day

Disclaimer: They still are not mine. Hopefully that is reasonably clear by now. Although unfortunate.

Notes: Again, I'm very much appreciative of all the wonderful reviews you are taking the time to write; I'm incredibly grateful that you have been enjoying it enough to want more. So: here is more.

I really don't take myself or this fic seriously. If I did, it would probably be called "A Series of Serious Events". Or, for the kicks of alliteration: "A Series of Serious Sets of Situations". Anyway, point being: this next part might get quite fluffy, but I hope that it is balanced by enough humour to not make myself become a fully-fledged seriousfluff writer. I've never attempted to write this particular cliché before (for fear of fluff) so I'm a little more anxious than usual about writing it. Hence, feedback is particularly appreciated.

* * *

She is the first to enter their new house on the day that they move in. Her jeans ride precariously low on her hips but with a box balanced on her knee, held in place by an elbow, and her hands full with keys and sunglasses - causing her to attempt to use a finger to open the door - there is nothing that she can do. 

The box of shoes – and she doesn't quite know why this was her first item to bring inside – threatens to topple as she attempts to bring her foot back down to the ground.

From behind her an arm reaches out to push the door open. She turns slightly to see Tony. Beside him stands an unfamiliar male with an obvious familial resemblance.

"Michelle, this is my brother, Rick. Rick, Michelle," Tony introduces them. "Rick's going to help us move in."

"Hey," Rick greets her.

She smiles, greeting him in response, attempts to hold out a hand to meet his, but only belatedly realises that the box is balanced more precariously than originally thought. It falls, landing with a thud on Tony's foot.

Her eyes grow wide in embarrassment. "Sorry!" she exclaims as he yelps in surprise.

"You have too many shoes," he groans. And then groans again. It's a little over-played and she immediately realises that he is not seriously injured.

She notices that Rick attempts to hide a grin as he leans down to pick up the box. He pretends to struggle with its weight.

She moves to Tony, rolling her eyes at him as he places one hand on her shoulder to help steady himself on one foot.

"Let me inspect the damage," she tells him.

"It's probably broken," he complains. "I'll never be able to walk again."

"It wasn't that heavy," she informs him, one eyebrow raised.

He makes a big deal about hobbling in through the front door.

"Need me to carry you over the threshold?" she comments wryly.

He mock-glares at her as he makes his way over to the stairs. "You're going to have to do the rest of the moving," he tells her. "I'll sit here and direct."

She moves his hand off her shoulder quickly, causing him to over-balance and place his "injured" foot on the floor. He belatedly realises that he should have had a reaction, and feebly yelps again.

"It's a miracle," she mocks. "And you thought you'd never walk again. Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll be able to help with the moving, after all."

For a few seconds he pretends to sulk. She whispers in his ear, something indiscernible to Rick who stands a few meters away. Tony cheers up almost immediately, grinning.

"So, shall we start with the bedroom furniture?" he asks brightly.

Rick smirks.

* * *

Later other people come to help them out. The work is laborious and tedious, but even through this Michelle finds it difficult to contain her excitement about the new house. 

They are all quite glad to take a rest when the couches are finally placed in the correct spot. This in itself has been quite a task, as Michelle and Tony "discussed" the various merits of different positions, and the "correct" direction for a couch to face (directly TV-facing versus centre of the room; a compromise is finally reached in which one faces the TV and the other is at a 90 degree angle from it).

Afterwards Michelle takes Casey on a grand tour as she turns up to help out.

"And these are the three bedrooms: ours, a guest room, and what Tony likes to call my overflow closet. Which will, in fact, end up being a study. Or Tony's Cubs appreciation room."

"It's all so grown-up; getting a house together and everything that comes with it. You're not getting married anytime soon, I take it?" Casey inquires, smiling.

"We've barely even discussed it seriously," she admits. "It's probably the last thing on his mind right now, let alone mine; renting a house together is commitment enough for now," she claims. Casey is not entirely convinced that she is speaking the truth.

* * *

"I like her," Rick tells his brother as they return to the van for another load. "I mean, I can't believe that it's taken what, seven months, to finally meet her. Especially after all I've heard for the past year and a half is "Michelle this" and "Michelle that"…" 

"I never said any of that," he denies fervently, yet unsure whether his brother is being truthful or not. He imagines that there is some truth to his comments. It causes him to smile. "We were just colleagues back then."

Rick smirks. "Yeah, colleagues. Nothing more, right? I could see this coming a mile off," he informs his older brother.

"I may have liked her a little back then, but we worked together; that was all there was," he refutes, half-successful in his attempt to not grin.

Rick laughs. "Believe it; don't believe it. It doesn't matter. I do like her though. She's far nicer than any of your other girlfriends. All, what, three of them? The parents were beginning to worry that you'd never get yourself married off. You should bring her to meet them. They're getting pissed that you haven't yet given them the opportunity to meet her."

"They'll meet her soon enough," Tony comments. "I have plans," he says ominously. Rick decides that his tone of voice will not welcome questioning.

* * *

It is much later, after everyone has gone home. They slouch on the couch, exhausted. She lies with her head on his shoulder, unable to move physically, but mentally concerned about the vast array of boxes that adorn their new home. 

"My brother liked you," he comments after a particularly long pause in conversation.

She smiles. "I'm glad. I liked him too. Maybe we could arrange to meet up with him sometime?"

"Maybe. Maybe you could meet my sisters and my parents, too," he suggests, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"That would be… nice," she declares, attempting not to demonstrate her apprehension. Previous familial meetings of ex-boyfriends have not always gone to plan, but even ignoring that fact she would still be anxious.

"I promise that they'll all be very nice and behave. I'd threaten them beforehand," he informs her, half-seriously. He absentmindedly draws circles on the exposed skin on her arm.

"I'm not sure if I should subject you to my family."

He laughs. "I'm sure they're not that bad. Besides, I'd like to meet them. Eventually I'm going to, anyway."

"Eventually?" she asks, puzzled.

There is a brief pause as he considers his next words.

"I think you should marry me."

"Why?" she challenges, teasing, not entirely sure what to make of the comment, partly through nervousness.

"Because I'm handsome and smart and have a good job," he deadpans.

"Still, I might be able to do better," she jokes.

He says nothing, but gets up from the couch and for a moment she considers what she has said, worrying about it in case she has unintentionally caused offence.

Instead he says, "Wait there."

"Tony?" she asks, confused.

"Wait there," he repeats. He runs up the stairs, returning a few moments later.

"I've been waiting all day for us to have some time to ourselves because I couldn't stand waiting any longer," he tells her. He digs his hand into his pocket and produces a small box.

She is initially cautious: "Tony, what are you doing? What are you doing?" she questions, eyes wide with shock as he moves into position in front of her on one knee. "Oh my god." He opens the box.

"Marry me," he says.

She panics, and in shock her brain doesn't engage in the way that she had hoped it would at this particular moment in her life. "Sorry about earlier," she apologises, garbling. "With the questioning. I didn't realise you were serious," she frets. "I didn't mean…"

She stops talking, attempts to re-engage her brain in hopes that it will eventually both process the moment and produce a coherent response.

He remains on one knee, still waiting patiently for an answer. "If you could give me an answer sometime this century, I'd really appreciate it because my knee is starting to kill me," he says, somewhat nervously. Obviously, he was hoping for an immediate "Oh, but Tony, I'd love to; I've waited my whole life for this moment, could our lives be any more perfect?" or something slightly more Michelle-like. A simple "yes/sure, why not/I've got nothing else to do" would suffice at this moment.

He hopes that this is merely a processing problem: they haven't really discussed marriage in any depth and so it may be a slight shock to her. To him, however, it feels like the right step and the right time.

"So, I was thinking: I love you. It's possible that when you're not trying to mock me or kill me with your shoes you love me too. So, with that in mind, I would quite like it if you could give me an answer to the question I am about to ask… again."

"The others were more of a statement than a question," she comments before being able to stop herself, her brain still not processing in a way that she is entirely understanding or appreciating. She apologises again for interrupting. She smiles self-consciously, not relying on her mouth to say the right words but hopes that her eyes might be able to convey some of their meaning. He smiles back and their eyes meet and he seems to understand. Hopefully he comprehends that she is not entirely adverse to the option, despite her lack of appropriate response.

"_Will_ you marry me?" he asks, ring out in front, emphasising the "will" as a question.

She smiles shyly. And finally, her brain and her mouth are able to work effectively in tandem. "I'd love to."

* * *

End. 

Please let me know if you enjoyed.


	6. Meet the Parents

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 6: Meet the Parents

Disclaimer: If I said they were mine, you wouldn't believe me anyway. People, places and objects recognisable from 24 do not belong to me.

Notes: Yet again, many thanks to those who took the time to tell me that they enjoyed the last chapter. It really is very lovely to receive feedback hence I am currently trying my best to let other authors know that I appreciate their time spent to entertain me!

Apologies for the delay in writing this chapter: in addition to being busy in real life, I also temporarily stumbled upon a spot of writer's block. However, am mostly over it now…

Let me know if you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

The response from work colleagues to their engagement is good. For the first few days, no one comments on it. This is possibly because they don't tell anyone. This suits them fine. There's no reason for there to be a big song and dance about it all. 

However, on the fourth day, she forgets to remove the ring from her finger and place it on the chain around her neck.

Their colleagues being CTU employees – and, let's face it: women being women – it is noticed within about 2 minutes.

Kim grabs her hand as soon as she notices the sparkly object on it.

She looks at it, a smile in place on her face. "Is that…?" she asks, leaving Michelle to fill in the missing words, which are incredibly clear. Michelle says nothing, willing to neither confirm nor deny Kim's assumption.

Finally, Kim, having finished studying the ring, asks her again: "Are you and Tony engaged?"

"Yes," Michelle replies quietly, not wanting the attention that other people in the near vicinity are beginning to demonstrate.

Kim is, unfortunately, unaware of Michelle's wish. "Oh my God! That's great! Have you set a date of the big day, yet? Where are you having it?" she gushes.

"We've not sorted out any of the details yet," she replies, truthfully. Others are now listening intently to the conversation, having ascertained the topic. They ask to see the ring, offer their congratulations, ask about her thoughts on her dress, catering, offering advice and recommendations.

The attention – most of it unwanted as she really would prefer to concentrate on work – continues for much of the day. Obviously, CTU is not a place where secrets of some varieties are kept for long.

She understands some of their enthusiasm, but after the 50th "Where are you having the wedding?" she thinks that maybe she should elope to Hawaii. After all, if just a ring generates this level of interest, who knows what might happen if they announce an actual event.

She doesn't entirely understand the fascination with weddings. When her brother got married, she was a bridesmaid and found the attention to detail and worrying about things such as "where should we place the flowers – do they really go with the colour scheme of the dresses?" and "can we really have Uncle Fred and mom's friend Gerry sitting at the same table – didn't they have an argument 45 years ago?" and "oh God, we forgot to invite Great Step Aunt Maud's second cousin Lionel to the wedding, and now they'll never speak to us again even though we haven't seen them in 20 years" bewildering.

She finds it odd that other people are currently far more interested in her wedding than she is. Not that she isn't interested but currently she finds it all a bit overwhelming, and certainly hadn't anticipated such attention.

Later, she is caught again in another re-hash of "we have no idea who, what, where, when, or why the wedding will take place" when Tony calls a meeting for the senior staff. And she is almost glad for the diversion.

* * *

She is at home after a long day of work. Tony is in the shower. She relaxes in front of the TV, watching some mindless drama whereby a number of attractive people are stranded on an island where there appears to be some sort of creature trying to kill them all. That is, if they're not too busy trying to kill each other. 

The phone rings and she is almost loath to move from her current position, but manages to haul herself out of the armchair before it stops ringing.

"Hello?"

"Michelle?"

She doesn't recognise the voice. "Yes?" she replies dubiously.

"Michelle, hello, it's Tony's mother, Maria. Is Tony there?"

She silently lets out a sigh of relief; it is not a crazy stalker after all. "He's in the shower at the moment; can I get him to call you back?"

"No need. We just wanted to officially invite you both to our Golden Wedding anniversary celebrations. We're having a small party starting at 1pm on the 15th. I don't expect that Tony remembered. We'd love to see you both there."

She flounders for a reason not to go but can't think of one. "I'll put it on the calendar. I'll look forward to meeting you."

She hangs up and sighs. She really doesn't look forward to it.

* * *

"Don't worry, my parents will love you. Just be yourself," Tony advises as he drives them over to the party. She has been fretting about it for a number of days. 

"Uh, sweetheart, it's not exactly a foregone conclusion that because you like me, your parents will, too," she reminds him for about the fiftieth time.

"Yes, but I love you. So they have to," he reasons.

She doesn't reply to this but offers him a raised eyebrow in question.

He amends his statement. "Well, maybe they don't have to love you. But they've been told that they at least have to like you," he reassures her.

"Well, that makes all the difference", she says sarcastically. "I'm sure they'll do exactly what you tell them."

They pull into the driveway and she stops talking and even worrying about meeting his parents when she sees the house.

"Okay, so when you told me that your parents "got by" you were lying, right?" she comments, now possibly even more worried as her eyes fixate upon the huge residence.

"Obfuscating the truth, possibly," he admits.

There is obviously a big party going on. There are rows of large cars, elegant women in expensive clothes and heels saunter across the lawn, perfectly turned-out children skip obediently beside their parents.

She looks down at what she is wearing. "Okay, now we're going to have to go back because I wasn't prepared to be confronted by this: I thought we'll just have a nice, relaxed party in your parent's reasonably sized but comfortable house in the suburbs. There was no mention of high society events. Your mother specifically said "small"," she worries.

"Think of it this way: at least it takes the pressure off you. They'll be far too busy circulating to spend too much time talking with their youngest son and his fiancée," he reasons, knowing full well that it will not appease her.

"How does it take the pressure off? Instead of pretending that I'm nice and relaxed and perfect daughter-in-law material to your parents and 40 of their closest friends, I have to pretend that I am nice, relaxed and perfect daughter-in-law material to your parents and 250 of their closest friends, as well as pretending that I know how to conduct myself during high society events." She pauses, something obviously going through her mind. "I don't even know which fork I should use for which course!"

He grins, which possibly irritates her yet more, but at least takes her mind off her other concerns. "Are you calm now? Or do we need to go back home and spend a few hours preparing to return?" She breathes deeply, glares at him and then nods that she is fine. He takes her hand. "How about this: we meet my parents, we grab some lunch, we leave." She nods in affirmation.

They get out of the car and walk round the back of the house. She reassesses her original assumption: it is not quite as pretentious as she had initially thought. Except that there is a marquee. But the five course meal she had expected looks as though it will be a buffet. A buffet with lobster, canapés and what could possibly be caviar, but a buffet nonetheless.

Tony's mother immediately hones in on her youngest son. She begins her conversation with him by complaining at him for a: not seeing her enough, and b: not introducing her to Michelle.

"We've obviously heard a lot about you. I was hoping that eventually I would get to meet you. It's a good thing you answered the phone, I could never trust this one to make any arrangements," she motions at her son in exasperation.

Tony rolls his eyes, "Ma," he groans. He introduces Michelle.

Michelle holds her hand out to shake his mother's, but Maria spots the ring immediately. She shrieks, much to Tony's consternation. "Frank!" she calls over to Tony's father, "Frank, come over here! Tony, why didn't you tell us?"

"I wanted to tell you in person", he mumbles, embarrassed.

"My youngest son, getting married, finally!" she delights, hugging him.

Tony rolls his eyes again, embarrassedly looking over at Michelle. She smiles, amused.

Then Maria reaches over and hugs Michelle.

"Welcome to the family, Michelle," Maria greets her. "Here, let me introduce you to the rest of the family; we certainly can't rely on this oaf to do the honours."

Tony's mom drags Michelle off to meet family members and friends. Michelle looks back at Tony desperately. He shrugs, pretending to be helpless. He smiles to himself as he hears his Mom loudly telling people to meet her future daughter-in-law.

* * *

It is later that night. They lie on the couch, exhausted, after having spent a good majority of the evening at his parents' party. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She gives a long pause, as if to think before replying. She then smiles, "no".

"My mom adored showing you off to everyone. They were convinced that I was never going to get married."

"Your mom is lovely. She's very proud of you. It was all "My Tony's getting married", and "My Tony, the government agent, you remember?" and "My Tony, he's a wiz with computers, you should talk to him.""

He grins, "you should be glad you got me when you could, then," he smirks.

She raises an eyebrow but refrains from commenting.

"So, when do I get to meet your parents?" he inquires.

"I'm staying with them the weekend of the reunion. You can come with me if you really want to."

"Reunion? What reunion?"

"My high school reunion. I told you about it. You were watching baseball and said something like "huh" which I interpreted as "that sounds lovely honey, but I'm busy that weekend"".

"Well, if I get to meet your parents, how can I possibly turn down the prospect of a reunion? You were one of the pretty, popular ones in high school, right?"

She snorts, a derisive "ha, as if!" implicit.

"Well, I'm sure it'll be a fun weekend away."

"You meant interesting, sweetheart; an interesting weekend away."

* * *

End of chapter. 

Next one soonish. Well as soon as I write it.

Hope you enjoyed this instalment!


	7. Back to School

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 7: Back to School

Disclaimer: Characters, etc, are not mine. Sadly.

Notes: Major apologies for the delay: got a bit of writer's block and then there were internet connectivity issues… If it's any consolation, this part is longer than the others...

Anyway, again, many thanks to those who left reviews for the last part (and also for "between cracked fingers"); it really does make my day. I'd equally appreciate reviews for this part.

This is another of my favourite fic clichés; I hope I've done it justice and that you enjoy!

* * *

She is tense, almost unbearably so. Her shoulders are beginning to ache. And there are too many factors contributing to her stress levels for her to easily overcome them.

As she drives to her parents' house she is not entirely sure why agreed to go to the reunion. She is having doubts, mostly connected to the fact that she hasn't seen many of the people since she left school and at the time swore that she would never see them again, so help her God.

She would never admit to it, but if there happened to be some sort of security emergency in LA this weekend, she would only spend about 2 seconds half-heartedly complaining before heading back as fast as she could. She wonders briefly if she could plausibly create some sort of fabricated emergency herself – without, obviously, the potential for having to do time at the pleasure of the state.

She vaguely looks forward to seeing her parents; her step-dad is great but her mom tends to cause her to regress back to her teenage years. She fears that she will spend the whole weekend sighing heavily and using phrases such as "whatever" and "I said I'd do it, okay" and "I'm not thirteen, damnit". This will, of course, be accompanied by her rolling her eyes, shrugging nonchalantly, and arguing incessantly because resents being nagged.

She hopes that for once she will be able to overcome the need to do all these things if only so that she doesn't show herself up in front of Tony.

It seems unlikely; after 10 years of returning home she has yet to remain entirely adult throughout the whole visit.

The reunion is definitely an issue that adds to her stress. Partly because while she has spent the last 10 years fantasising about how a school reunion might pan out, the reality is entirely different.

Mostly since it is unlikely to end with her getting one over Tamara Young, the most popular girl in school and her arch enemy, or having Chad Mathews, the school hunk, lust over her, or with all the cool, popular kids envying her and lamenting over the fact that they weren't her best friend back in high school. The reality is that most of the nearly 30 year olds most probably won't remember who the hell she actually is, and most probably won't care.

But then she is now also nearly 30, engaged to a very attractive, great guy, and has a successful career, so what should it matter what kids from school think about her?

She looks forward at least to meeting up with her friends. She has not seen most of them in several years and only kept in contact through the exchange of Christmas cards, and occasional emails and she misses them.

But the main source of her tension is that she has yet to inform her parents that she is engaged. More directly, she has neglected to inform them that she has been seeing her "boyfriend" for about eight months, is living with him, and has plans to marry him in less than six.

Her mother is big on marriage. She is also big on knowing about her offspring's relationships. Particularly when they involve marriage. The lack of information given thus far beyond "Hey Mom, so, you know that I'm staying over on the 16th for the reunion? Well, Tony's coming with me" has quite possibly infuriated her to the extent that it will likely to lead to an inquisition of the scope that CTU employees would be impressed.

She mentally grimaces at the fore coming events of the weekend.

Tony reaches a hand over to her shoulder, massaging it slightly, insisting that she relax.

She smiles half-heartedly. If only it were that easy.

* * *

Her mom is waiting on the porch for her as they arrive. Michelle hopes that she has not been waiting long, but knows in reality that she has been watching out of the window most of the morning in the anticipation of catching a glimpse of Tony.

Her hope at this point is that her step-dad will quickly intervene and divert any attention away from her bringing a boyfriend home for the first time in about ten years. Putting it in those terms, she supposes that she can understand her mother's inquisitiveness.

She is at least slightly amused that Tony's impassive demeanour has now disintegrated to the point that he is asking hurried questions about her mom, her step-dad, other family members, and answers to any questions that might be asked. She doesn't take pity, remembering the recent "obfuscated" information regarding his upbringing and family situation and how much interest his parents would take in her.

She reluctantly exits the car and walks up to the house, Tony a short distance behind her.

"Mom," she says simply before she is caught up in an embrace and comments on how she doesn't keep in contact frequently enough.

"This is Tony," she informs her mother after she has finally been released. She notices that her step-dad has now exited the house to observe the commotion.

Tony dutifully steps forward to shake hands with both of her parents, greeting them and handing them the rather expensive bottle of wine that he felt was necessary to bring.

They are immediately enamoured with their future son-in-law, although either has yet to know about the fact that he will be their son-in-law. Michelle is rather grateful that the inquisition has apparently been put off a few minutes.

They are invited into the house.

The house is almost exactly as she remembers it, although she has not visited in about two years. They enter the kitchen and her mom offers them coffee, which both readily accept.

The inquisition begins as soon as the coffee is handed out.

There are many questions and most of these are aimed at Michelle, much to her consternation. Fortunately, they are all sitting down in the living room before the question of intentions is asked and answered.

There is a long pause after her mom hears the news that she is engaged. Michelle inwardly braces herself for the potential fallout and "who, what, where, when, why" questions, mostly pertaining to "why was I not informed of this information", but is at a loss when none of these are demanded. Instead her mom shocks her by smiling, crying, hugging her then Tony, and making comments such as "I'm so happy" and "finally!" and "I never thought this would happen!"

Eventually, her step-dad intervenes and invites Michelle outside to look at the garden, which she understands immediately as a ruse for "let's get out of here". Michelle, remembering the recent meeting with Tony's family, abandons him without pity.

"The, uh… grass is looking good," she comments, unable to recall the names of any plants.

"Tony seems like a nice guy," her dad notes after a pause as they walk the border of the garden. He puts one arm round her shoulder, bringing her closer.

She doesn't reply; she's not entirely sure what she should say. But she has always been close to her step-dad and revels in the comfort of being near him.

"I'm glad you're happy, kid," he says, kissing the top of her head, and that signals the end of their conversation about her relationship.

* * *

The room is gaudily made up, with a banner welcoming the class of '92 back. She wishes immediately that she had drunk more wine with dinner.

She enters hesitantly, more than ready to declare defeat and return home. Even if it does mean that she will have to answer more of her mother's demanding questions.

Tony pushes her along and she makes a bee-line for the bar. She recognises the faces of several of her classmates, but has a general wish to ignore them.

Before she can reach the bar and enjoy a cool glass of whatever contains the most amount of alcohol, she sees Tamara Young. She has more of a specific wish to ignore Tamara. She notes, rather annoyed, that Tamara is not unattractive and overweight as she had hoped. Unfortunately, the years haven't been too unkind, which screws up her reunion fantasy to some extent. It is also unfortunate that Tamara is entirely oblivious to Michelle's wish to ignore her and makes herself known in a most unwanted way, by smiling a little too widely at Tony. Tony, much to Michelle's delight, apparently also wishes to ignore her.

Tamara is either unaware of this fact or completely ignores it and walks over to introduce herself to Tony, seemingly unaware that Michelle is standing next to him.

She holds out her hand. "Tamara Young. I don't remember you from school," she comments in a flirtatious tone of voice.

"I wasn't at this school, Michelle was," he replies.

Michelle smiles insincerely. She thinks about getting a lot to drink then going home. She mentally wanders through the possible emergencies which could feasibly occur in LA and rather hopes that a non-violent terrorist attack – potentially involving computer systems – is suspected so that she could be called home.

Tamara smiles. It is a manufactured smile. "I'm afraid I don't remember you," she trills.

"We weren't exactly friends," Michelle comments. "You used to make fun of me," she recalls matter-of-factly.

Tamara laughs gaily. "Oh, aren't kids horrible at high school!" she replies, clearly flirting with Tony as she places one hand on his arm. He isn't happy about this contact, but is polite and only moves slightly away.

"Aren't they just," Michelle notes with a sarcastic smile.

"Anyway, must go circulate. Catch up with you later!" It is not entirely clear who this comment is actually aimed at, although Michelle suspects it is more probably Tony than herself. Tamara ends the exchange by blowing air kisses at them both. Michelle mentally rolls her eyes.

After her departure they head off again to the bar.

* * *

She drinks another half glass of wine before she starts to feel slightly more comfortable. She downs the rest.

"Why doesn't she just literally throw herself at him?" she comments bitterly, looking at Tamara, who has apparently interpreted "must go circulate" as "must go flirt with any attractive male, regardless of marital status".

"What's the deal with this Tamara, then?" Tony asks.

"She's evil," she replies. There's a pause before she smiles. "Okay, so evil might be overstating it, but she made my life at high school living hell. Her and Chad Mathews, her football captain boyfriend. Although everyone reckoned she was screwing around with the rest of the football team."

"And you liked Chad?" he asks with a smirk.

"No!" she denies. She looks over at his disbelieving look. "Okay, maybe. But I was young and naïve. And everyone else liked him too," she defends herself.

"And he didn't return your love?" he attempts to sound serious but a teasing grin betrays him.

"I wasn't the most popular girl at school. I studied, which apparently wasn't so cool. I was in science club. But it wasn't as though I was in chess club. He alternately ignored me and teased me." A brief look of horror passes over her face. "And if anyone talks to you about the cheerleading trials, it was nothing, okay."

"Cheerleading trials, nothing, okay," he repeats, obviously planning to ask the first person he sees about it.

"It wasn't my fault," she insists. She takes the third glass of wine of the evening and begins to drink. "But they never let me hear the end of it."

"Okay, see, now you have to explain," he informs her, intrigued. "It'll be worth your while." She raises her eyebrows. "Back home."

She thinks about it for a very short period of time. "There was an unfortunate incident with a human pyramid," she recalls with a shudder. "And that's all you're going to find out," she smiles, as she spots her friends.

He sighs dramatically and she laughs. She takes his hand and drags him towards the table where her friends are seated.

* * *

They spend a good part of the evening catching up with her friends. She has to admit that it is actually quite fun; far more interesting than her feared version although potentially less thrilling than her fantasy version.

Her friends all have different careers, different interests, different relationships and families, and she revels in the stories that they tell. Tony talks with her friends, their partners and husbands at length on a variety of subjects, and she doesn't worry that he might not be enjoying himself.

Later he goes to get drinks. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, unable to take her eyes completely off him, her adoration of him magnified by her consumption of alcohol.

Unfortunately, Tamara Young apparently also finds it difficult to keep her eyes away from him. She approaches him at the bar as Michelle watches on in astonishment at her audacity.

"I see that Tamara Young hasn't changed at all," her friend notes.

Tony manages to dispel her interest and returns to the table without comment.

* * *

It is later when Chad Mathews walks over to Michelle as she talks to her friends. "Y'know, I don't care who you came with but you're coming home with me, baby. I was high school football captain," he boasts. He has obviously drunk a fair amount.

Michelle smiles deceptively cheerfully despite this arrogant approach which entirely failed to impress her. "That's nice. I was in the science club, but I'm definitely not going home with you. I hear Tamara Young might be desperate enough to be interested, though." She turns back to the conversation with her friends.

It is apparent that Chad recalls who she is. Finally. "Hey, weren't you the geek in school who used to follow me everywhere? You've totally changed! Cause now, you're totally hot, y'know," he tries again.

"Well, that makes all the difference," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. He clearly hasn't yet grasped the concept of sarcasm and places his hand on the small of her back, from where it migrates further south, making its claim on her. She places one arm behind her back, grabs his thumb, brings it around her front and twists it, causing him a small amount of pain. "Chad, honestly? You're currently way past a line that you shouldn't cross. I'm not the same person I was back at school. I will not fawn over you like the other women might. Also, I'm getting married in a few months, and the guy over there glaring at you? He's my fiancé. He was in the Marines." She smiles; twists Chad's thumb a little more to make her point, then drops it.

Chad nurses his thumb, looking warily over at Tony. "Right. Cool. Suppose I'll go check on Tamara."

Her friends, who have been watching the interaction closely, attempt not to laugh. They are spectacularly unsuccessful in this feat.

Tony wanders over after the altercation, not wanting to interfere throughout its duration, knowing that she can take care of herself. "You okay?" he asks, attempting not to sound too concerned.

She smiles. "I've not had this much fun in ages. I never thought I'd get to turn down the football captain. He's so dreamy," she ends sarcastically.

It is about the same time that, after seemingly having passed over Chad, Tamara walks over to their group.

"You having a good time?" she asks, the question obviously directed at Tony.

He looks between Tamara and Michelle briefly, unsure of what the etiquette is in this situation. He opts for polite but disinterested.

"Uh, sure, it's been interesting."

"You know, you look like you're a great dancer. You should get out on the dance floor," she smiles, placing her hand on Tony's arm yet again. There is an obvious insinuation of "you should join me on the dance floor".

Michelle looks at her with disdain. "Tamara," she sighs, "Leave us alone."

Tamara trills, laughing an obviously false laugh. "Can't I talk to my new friends?" she asks.

Michelle raises an eyebrow, tired with the evening's events and immaturity of some of her classmates. "You're no longer in high school, Tamara. Some of us decided to grow up. Stealing everyone's boyfriend when they were 15 might have been amusing to you, but continuing to interfere in people's relationships reeks of desperation and insecurity. Seriously, guys don't find it attractive," she turns her back on Tamara and draws Tony back into conversation with her friends. Her friends watch on, amused at their high school enemy's reaction as it momentarily turns to abject dejection before the false smile re-emerges and she walks off, allegedly unaffected.

"Feel better?" Tony asks, amused.

She smiles in response. "While this has probably been one of the best nights of my life, I think I've had too much excitement for now. I just want to go home."

They say goodbye to all of her friends, promising to keep in contact and exchanging numbers and email addresses where necessary.

"So, did you have a good time?" he asks her as they head to the car.

"Well, I remembered why I had vowed never to talk to half the people from high school," she comments. "But two of my three high school fantasies did work out: not only did Chad Mathews ask me out, but I actually told Tamara Young what I thought of her. It was, like, so cool," she mocks.

"You feel better, then?" he repeats with a smile, placing one arm round her shoulders and drawing her close.

She laughs. "A little."

* * *

End of part seven.

Am moving house this week, so not entirely sure when I'll next get the opportunity to write. Hopefully it won't be too long.


	8. Bells Will Ring, the Sun Will Shine

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 8: Bells Will Ring, the Sun Will Shine

Disclaimer: The characters, etc, are not mine. If they were, all would be right with the world, etc, etc, etc.

Notes: Apologies for the huge delay; have moved house and have since attempted to be sociable with housemates/do exercise in spare time. Also ended up watching 24 series 3 (again) and 4 (finally) which required a certain amount of time.

Again, many thanks to those who have reviewed thus far (and in fact to those that have read, enjoyed, and not reviewed), I really appreciate it. And would, in fact, appreciate any further reviews you were to leave.

Thus far in my life, I have avoided writing this particular fic cliché, but today felt the need.

Lyrics shamelessly stolen from Elton John's "Chapel of Love". Which can be found on the Four Weddings and a Funeral Soundtrack. I have also shamelessly stolen my sister's own "first dance" song. Well, it's not as if she's ever going to read this… This also, obviously, does not belong to me.

* * *

She is more nervous than she had anticipated. She still doesn't understand how she was convinced that inviting over 100 of their "closest" family and friends was a good idea, and has half a mind to call Tony and tell him that it's just him, her, their parents and five of their friends, maximum. Friends being people that she has actually met in her lifetime and not Tony's parent's family's friend's family. Or the nameless and numerous "Aunts" and "Uncles" who she can't imagine even Tony has spent more than five minutes in the company of.

She is grateful that has she won on some accounts. The wedding as envisaged by Tony's mother and, somewhat more disturbingly, her own mother, was far more grandiose and involved a larger number of people. It also involved churches, cathedrals, the Vatican, or other vast spaces that may have included some sort of religious aspect. Not that she has a problem with religious weddings, but since she has not attended church in at least 15 years (and, she admits, probably longer), she feels this might be slightly hypocritical. Additionally, these places would have given both mothers the opportunity to invite almost every person each had ever met, which was not a favourable position to be in.

No, the backyard wedding at the Almeida's is as grandiose as she would agree to since her suggestions of eloping to Vegas, Hawaii, or any other place on the continent were shunned from the beginning.

The other aspect in which she has had some say, much to her relief, is her dress. Countless trips have been made to wedding dress shops, myriad white meringues tried on at the insistence of either mother or bridesmaid, and have all been rejected by herself. White dresses were favoured. Fortunately, she made it clear fairly early on that white is not the most flattering colour for her, nor are dresses with five layers of the most expensive netting-type material, hand-sewn beading, or a silk trail of two meters to her taste or style. And despite numerous remarks that her sister-in-law/cousin/friend from college looked absolutely lovely in their Vera Wang creation, she was adamant that she would not stray from her price bracket or idea of what constituted a wedding dress.

The long ivory sheath dress has not been fully embraced by any party except herself, but she feels comfortable and aptly matrimonial, and that is all that matters. She is not wearing a veil, either, and thank god for that, for if it hadn't irritated the hell out of her, it would have flown away in the wind for sure.

And there is certainly no tiara.

Unfortunately, both she and her guests are more formally dressed than she had hoped (apparently, "sun dresses, jeans and casual wear" were not acceptable attire for an Almeida wedding. Nor, for that matter, a Dessler wedding.)

She stands in the master bedroom of the Almeida house gazing at herself in the mirror. Unlike perhaps most of her contemporaries, she has not pictured herself as a bride from the age of 5, nor worn a tea towel over her head as an imaginary veil. In fact, seeing herself in the mirror with an ivory dress, impeccable make up and half pinned-up hair as a bride is almost as foreign an idea now as it was back when she was five and preferred to play with building blocks and jigsaws.

She smiles at herself, almost amused by the thought that this is the day: the day that Michelle Dessler gets married.

She takes a proffered glass of pre-celebratory champagne and sips at it quickly, knowing that time is of the essence, and that only last minute preparations separate her and her impending nuptials.

Her step-father enters the room, grins at her, and she smiles back genuinely. She closes her eyes, takes one last deep intake of air, and exhales slowly. And at last, she is ready.

* * *

She tries not to shake with nervous anticipation as she nears the "aisle". She tries not to see the 100 or so guests as they turn to look at her when the music stirs. She tries not to think about what is about to happen. Instead, as she sees him, she focuses on Tony in his morning-suit, and finally she is there, and there is no time to insist that they elope.

He should wear a morning suit more often, she decides as she walks along the aisle. This in between panicked and unwelcome thoughts of: "Oh my God, am I ready for this? Did the caterers manage to get the vegetarian option sorted? Does my hair look okay?"

And then he turns around, smiles enchanted at her, and all other thoughts are pushed aside.

She doesn't remember much of the ceremony. Except the kiss. She distinctly remembers that. Particularly the heckling and the calls of "get a room" from Tony's brother.

Afterwards there is a short break for them to catch their breath. "In case I forget to tell you later," her husband says, "you took my breath away today."

And before she can reply, her new mother-in-law announces that it is time for the photographs, and she is whisked away to pose with aunts, uncles, cousins, bridesmaids, family, friends, her new husband, and unknowns. She is urged to share moments with Tony's three-year-old niece as the photographer takes photos and females of her family coo over the interaction. Fortunately the wind is quite compliant and abates for the duration of the photographs and so her collection lacks the "skirt flying up in the wind" picture that her cousin does not so proudly display.

After half an hour she is already tired of posing and wishes merely to spend time alone with Tony. There is a further half an hour left of photography, however, including the seemingly three-hour set up of the "group" photograph, where everyone passes a camera to the photographer and hence requires about 75 "smile!"s and in which she knows at least one person per photograph will have their eyes shut.

Finally, the posed photographic portion of the afternoon is over and then there is the champagne toast.

She shakes the bottle with Tony, the cork shooting off into the crowd (possibly hitting Great Uncle Albert – not actually related to anyone she doesn't think), the photographer taking the most perfect photo of everyone looking up in the air at the cork (before it hit Great Uncle Albert), laughing, with her and Tony centre. Later it will be her favourite photo, the detail revealing more every time she looks at it.

* * *

The evening reception gives them an hour's long break and she is glad to have a rest before yet more guests arrive so that she can focus on what the day is really about – her and Tony.

They escape for a while, finding their way into Tony's old room.

"So, how many girls have you had up here then?" she teases as he tries to prevent her from wandering and looking the items which remain from his youth. He attempts to pull her towards him on the bed.

"You're the first," he confides. She looks warily at him. "Of course, I was at college most of the time my parents have lived here, and there's been many to keep track of at the old house," he teases. She shoots him a false look of enmity.

"And you're the first wife I've had in any of my bedrooms," he comments almost neutrally.

"I should damn well hope so," she replies, attempting to hide her grin as he refers to her as his wife. She fails.

Eventually he is successful in pulling her away from remnants of his Cubs memorabilia and books on electronics, computers and modern art, "there was this girl…" he starts.

"I don't want to know," she replies, a slight smile on her features.

They spend almost twenty minutes just lying there on his single bed from the latter years of his childhood, his arms tightly round her, ensuring she doesn't fall off the edge.

"I want to stay here forever," he says quietly.

"I think the guests might object," she comments. She feels his grin as he kisses her shoulder. She draws a finger slowly along his arm. "Plus, I don't think we'd get any privacy, what with your parents down the hall," she smirks.

He hits her lightly, and she hears him laugh. "You know what I mean."

She sighs, and shifts her weight, turning round in his arms to face him. "It's probably about time we made an entrance."

"Probably," he agrees, not moving.

She smiles, and kisses him. Then five minutes later, "unless you want your mother to find us?"

He moves rapidly into a standing position.

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Tony Almeida."

She beams, half in embarrassment, half in awe of the fact that she is now "Mrs. Tony Almeida". Tony grabs her arm and she moves closer towards him. "Ready to make your speech?" she whispers teasingly.

"Ah, but are you ready, Mrs. Almeida?" he comments as they near the head table.

She sits down, almost dreading to hear the performances of Tony, his best man – his brother – and her step-father.

Mostly they say nice things about her; there is much speculation over her early years and her college years from her step-dad; and veiled comments regarding Tony's previous choices in women from his brother. There is almost a whole five minutes on Tony's predilection – in college – to get incredibly drunk and dress up as a woman/priests/in bed clothes. Fortunately she finds this amusing, having already heard half the stories from Tony's brother. The rest she stores up as teasing material.

Tony commends the bridesmaids on an excellent job, and says nice things about her that causes her to well-up with tears – something she claimed she would never do as a bride. Somehow she holds it together, and makes a mental note to tell him how important he is to her after the whole event is over.

Soon afterwards the eating and toasting part of the evening is over and the band begins to play.

Her step-dad leans over to her, kisses her on the cheek and reminds her that it is her first dance with Tony.

"Too Good to Be True" starts to play, and Tony stands, indicating that she should join him on the dance floor.

And for three minutes the day is theirs and theirs alone.

* * *

She spends much of the rest of the evening circulating and, under the influence of alcohol, making nice with relatives and "friends". She spends time with Jack and Kate, finally having the time to sit and talk to people that she is actually interested in having a conversation with.

* * *

It is late before the day is completed and she is exhausted. She lies on his bed, unable to move.

"Sleep," she says quietly and he grins at her.

"I love you, Mrs. Almeida," he tells her.

"Uh huh," she replies, attempting to inform him of everything she feels about him before she falls asleep. Although she doesn't get the words across she knows that he understands.

He kisses her goodnight. And she rests.

* * *

The end. Again, for now. I really hope that you enjoyed! 


	9. Under the Tuscan Sun

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 9: Under the Tuscan Sun

Disclaimer: Characters, etc, still don't belong to me. If they did, the series five opener would have been a lot different. And I'd be a lot richer. And I'd have more job satisfaction, etc, etc, etc…

Feedback/Reviews: As always, they make my day.

Summary: It's a change of scene and pace as the honeymoon commences! More fluff ensues.

Notes: The clichés return! Again, apologies for the delay. Had a crap couple of months but all has sorted itself out now. Hopefully…

* * *

She is in the middle of a nice dream and is up to the part where she has started to dispute the fact that James Blunt's "Beautiful" is not in fact the greatest song of all time (and is about to champion either the Beatles or, for some reason unbeknownst to her, Meatloaf) when there is a beeping noise which is, seemingly, part of the sound track. It is a good five seconds before she realises that this is not actually part of the dream and is in fact an alarm going off at the unearthly hour of 3:55am. It takes a further five seconds for her to physically locate the alarm in order to shut the damn thing off and go back to sleep.

"Michelle," a voice calls, and she groans in response. It repeats her name, and this time there is a chuckling accompaniment that causes her to rouse herself from sleep in order to quieten the inconsiderate person forcing her to wake more than 5 hours earlier than she had anticipated.

She slowly reopens her eyes, rubbing them and turns over to face her worst nightmare: her new husband standing fully dressed with bags packed. She awakens quickly. "Where are you going?" she asks, alarmed.

"The question is more: where are we going? The honeymoon part of the marriage usually requires attendance of both the groom and the bride," he replies. She gazes back at him with wide eyes, finally remembering the last 24 hours.

"It's not even four in the morning," she informs him. Not being a morning person in the least, it is a struggle to form words into a coherent sentence and she is impressed that she made any sense at all.

"Yes, but apparently the people at the airport don't really care about that. The check in time is six am," he tells her. "And the cab is collecting us at 5:15am". She is entirely unimpressed that he a: failed to mention any of this to her before this moment in time, b: has hardly given her enough time to get ready since her usual morning routine takes an hour and is usually at least half that again this early and c: has the audacity to plan any flight for such a ridiculous time of the morning.

"Where are we going?" she enquires, attempting to adopt puppy-dog eyes in order to induce him into giving in. She is unsure of how successful she is given that it is first thing in the morning.

"The airport," he informs her with a sly grin which suggests that he is no more likely to divulge this information than when she refused to make love to him if he didn't tell her. Naturally that time she gave in. She tells herself that it was for her benefit rather than his.

Having had almost no input into the wedding procedures, it was agreed that Tony would have carte blanche on the honeymoon arrangements. It was his decision that the location would be a surprise, much to her chagrin.

She is honestly surprised that she managed to sleep last night, as she anticipated being too excited about finally finding out where they were going to rest. However, the wedding day was far more tiring than she imagined and now, frankly, she'd much prefer to sleep in for most of the morning in order to recover. A few hours alone with Tony and a bed would do much to improve her demeanour, she reasons, as she irritably rises from the bed and nearly trips over her own feet on the way to the bathroom.

Over an hour later she is nearly an entirely different woman and caffeine has given her the ability to be enthusiastic, regardless of the early hour. She peppers him with questions about their destination, although is rewarded with a "possibly" to all. The cab arrives shortly later, and she somehow manages to stay relatively quiet for the whole journey. Mostly due to the fact that Tony's hand roams high on her leg and attempts to distract her from her inquest.

They arrive at the airport before six and she is finally rewarded with an answer to their destination when the check-in attendant informs them that they will be travelling first class on the 8:05am flight to Pisa, Italy and that they should have a nice day.

He finds it amusing that her eyes widen almost impossibly at learning this information, and that she suddenly seems to become an excitable ten-year-old with ADD, unable to keep still or be quiet. "I've always wanted to go to Italy!" she tells him excitedly as though he had never before known this. He feels undeniably proud that he has made the right decision; he only hopes now that the rest of the vacation is as perfect for her as he had envisaged.

The hour or so wait once they have cleared passport control is almost unbearable for her, even in the first class lounge. She continues to ask him myriad questions; "Are we staying in Pisa?", "Can we climb the tower of Pisa?", "Do we need to buy an Italian phrase book?", "Have we got time to visit Rome?" and still is unsatisfied by his non-answers and smug grin. Except regarding the phrase book (yes, he had a phrase book and even had thought to purchase a dictionary and a CD teaching Italian for her to listen to on the flight – as long as she didn't repeat the phrases out loud). After this information, and given the CDs and a CD walkman, she starts to calm down. She looks at him for a moment, smiles widely, and kisses him.

He looks questioningly at her.

"I just wanted to say thank you in advance," she grins before putting on her headphones and continuing to silently repeat her Italian instructors.

* * *

The flight is unremarkable but long and they arrive at Pisa with only the intention of locating their rental car and hotel in order to pass out for a few hours.

Unfortunately, having successfully retrieved the car, they find that locating the hotel is not as easy as it would first appear, and some "creative" driving later - involving narrowly missing other drivers as they changed lanes without warning and going the wrong way down one way streets – they pass the same roundabout for approximately the fourth time.

"I think we should turn left here," she tells him, turning the map around about five times, attempting to hide the fact that she has no idea where they are.

"The last time we turned left here, we drove about a hundred yards before finding a dead end and a police station," he replies irritably.

"Well, that could be a help," she comments lamely. "Or, we could follow the signs back to the airport and ask at the rental car place," she suggests for what may be the fifteenth time. Possibly the sixteenth.

He says nothing; ten minutes later they arrive at the airport. Five minutes after that he returns with a map with a red line indicating their journey. Fifteen minutes later she has directed them to the hotel without difficulty.

On arriving at their room they promptly fall fast asleep.

* * *

"Move to the left a little, move your hands slightly up, a bit more, perfect!" she directs.

"Do you really need a photograph of me "supporting" the tower?" he asks, not for the first time.

He smiles unenthusiastically as she takes the photograph.

"Yes," she replies with a smile. "I gave into your demands last night, didn't I?"

He cocks his head to one side. "Pizza, beer, and back to bed weren't exactly demands. And as I remember you had no problem with any of the suggestions." He raises one eyebrow suggestively; somehow she manages not to blush. She hopes that the Japanese tourists also attempting to hold up the tower nearby don't understand English.

As far as she can ascertain, they have the remainder of the morning in Pisa – in which she is so determined that they will climb the tower that she got up at 7:30am in order to buy tickets – before they will travel to an as-yet undisclosed location. She has thus far attempted not to admit that she finds the secrecy and surprise element exciting, and so has been constantly asking questions mostly to keep up with her end of the deal.

All she knows is that they will have over a week and a half at their next destination, and she really couldn't care less where it is as long as it is a: in Italy and b: with her husband.

"Your turn," he interrupts her reverie. "Left, left, right, right, hands further up, further apart, more to the left, to the left. Right, right, right." She raises one eyebrow questioningly as he says "Perfect", and takes the photograph. "Beautiful," he comments.

* * *

They travel for nearly two hours, buying food supplies on the way, coming to a stop at the end of a dirt track. In front of them stands a house in traditional Tuscan style. An Italian woman with impeccable English greets them, handing them the keys and giving them some introductory and contact information before she drives off.

"This is it," he tells Michelle when they are alone. "Our own villa in Tuscany. Well, for a week and a half."

She says nothing in response.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, slightly worried as she is rarely without words.

She looks out to the vista of sunflower fields and hills and smiles, unable to hide her elation. "It's perfect." She gazes over at the house, before turning her attention to him. "I…" she pauses. "Thank you." She moves towards him, puts her arms around his neck and kisses him, and tells him in a whisper how lucky she is to have him. She laughs at his suggestions of how she could show him.

They spend some time exploring their new environment, before unpacking their luggage and finding their swimwear.

They relax by the pool, overlooking their vista, soaking up the sunshine and inhaling the scent of lavender from the nearby bushes.

She falls asleep in the warmth of the sun, exhausted from a long day of climbing the tower (scaling steps on a slant being an entirely new and uneasy experience), travelling, exploration and jet-lag.

* * *

She enjoys their next few days of uneventful relaxation and adventures with nature ("There's a scorpion on the floor. Really. Any chance you could kill it, sweetheart?"; "There's something on the wall that's glowing." "It's a gloworm." "Really! You think I could take a photo of it?"; "God, what's that?" "I think it might be a grasshopper." "What the hell is it doing on our bed?"). Okay, so perhaps not all their adventures with nature. Mostly she enjoys spending time alone with him, not having to share him with the rest of the world or having to be a professional around him. She enjoys learning new things about him ("So when I was at ballet," "Ballet!" "Yes, my parents made me go to ballet. I blame my sister. She dragged me along. I got out of it as soon as I could."), and is amused at his attempts to show her Italian cooking ("Pasta with Bolognese sauce, it's really not that complicated." "Can't we just order a pizza?").

They plan a few trips away from their beautiful villa, travelling to Siena and watching the preparations for the racing at the Piazza del Campo, finding the road on the postcards which zigzags up a hill, wine tasting at a local vineyard. They take a day trip to Florence, walking around the city and eating at a restaurant hidden away from the tourists.

One day it rains, a torrential downpour with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, and they spend the day indoors, rising from bed after midday.

* * *

Soon, too soon she thinks, it is time to pack their luggage, and head back towards Pisa, towards the airport, towards home and work.

She takes photographs of their villa, of their porch with the metal table and chairs that never seemed to sit quite right. She takes photos of their sunflower fields and hills, and of their pool overlooked by the vineyards. And suddenly she can't recall a good reason why they should go home and leave all this behind them.

She stands by the pool, recalling dozens of moments they've had out here that she can't bear to forget. Then his arms encompass her waist from behind and she rests her head on his shoulder.

"We'll come here again," he tells her. "No matter what happens, we'll come back to our villa." They stand there a while, unwilling to move.

"We should get going," she says eventually. She lifts her head from his shoulder, and starts towards the car, dragging him behind her.

She is surprised to find a sunflower poking out of her bag on the front passenger seat.

"You got me a sunflower! I never saw you leave. Where did you get it from?" she enquires as she sits in the car.

He smirks. "I may have headed down into the field."

She laughs as they start their drive back to the airport, gazing at the sunflower much of the way.

* * *

End of chapter. Please let me know if you enjoyed. 


	10. Everything Old is New Again

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 10: Everything Old is New Again

Author: Cath

Disclaimer: Characters really aren't mine. I know, you're as surprised as I am, right?

Feedback: Many thanks for all the reviews posted thus far, I really appreciate it! Any comments on this chapter are equally as gratefully received.

Notes: The fluff re-commences! Wanted to try and draw this series to some sort of conclusion and I finally had inspiration to write more! It takes place after day 4. Mostly since I wanted to completely ignore the angstier interludes. I might possibly write one final part – a nice little AU chapter – but that depends both on demand and inspiration.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this part!

---

She has spent the past half hour (well, to be honest the past six months) considering the best way to tell her mother that a: she is seeing someone, b: she is getting married in less than a month, and c: her future husband just happens to be her past husband.

Thus far, however, she sees that this conversation is doomed from the beginning and maybe it's not the wording that she should be worrying about. She believes that she can hardly expect the same reception that the news received last time she informed her mother of her impending nuptials.

She is also beginning to question the wisdom of the "let's see how this goes before we tell people" suggestion she made when she started seeing Tony again. She knows now that his "okay, sweetheart" really meant "that's an interesting idea but since I plan on marrying you again don't you think that conversation will be far more awkward than telling your parents that we're attempting to sort out things between us" but she is unwilling to admit defeat and announce publicly that he might have been right.

She knew from almost the moment that they got back together that it was right. But because of their past she was initially hesitant about immediately suggesting that they would be together forever (as she had rather hoped) particularly since she knew that they had a number of issues to work through first. Now she knows that once they sorted through the issues she should have announced the happy news to her mother. Preferably before he proposed.

She takes another sip of wine. Then a further gulp. She hopes that she will summon the courage from somewhere (possibly the alcohol) to go through with this conversation.

She goes over in her head some more potential conversation starters – and possible follow up questions and the more she thinks about it the more anxious she becomes.

"Mom, I'm getting married… Next month... What do you mean you had no idea I was even seeing anyone? I told you six months ago…"

"So you remember Tony, right? You liked him, right? Well, uh, surprise! We're getting married. Again. Yeah, in three weeks. Well at least you don't need to go looking for a new outfit."

"What would you say if I told you I had found the perfect man to spend the rest of my life with? Well, turns out I was right last time."

"So, Mom, Tony and I have sorted out all of our problems and we've realised that we still love each other and we're going to get married again. Isn't it romantic? Yes, well, I know I said that I'd never speak to him again, but it turns out I was wrong…"

"Remember how you thought I'd never get married again? Guess what! There's only twenty days left until the big day! Oh you're away that weekend. That's a shame."

"Mom, Tony and I got married yesterday. Yeah, complete surprise. Really wasn't expecting it. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to invite you."

"Hey Mom, this is Anna. She's your granddaughter. The father? Well, we've been married for the last three years so he's very much around. Of course you've met him."

She briefly considers the final two conversations and sees definite merit in avoiding the phone call she is about to make. However the follow up "twenty questions" would probably rival the Spanish inquisition and would be infinitely worse than her current announcement.

With this knowledge she knocks back the remainder of the wine and dials her mother's number.

"Hey Mom, it's me," she greets as nonchalantly as she can.

"I was wondering when I would get a call from you," her mother replies ominously. She wonders briefly about her mother's clairvoyant abilities which were frequently alluded to in her youth. At that time, however, she had put all knowledge down to an inability to cover up feelings of guilt.

"Yeah, it's been a while since we last spoke," she comments noncommittally.

"I had an interesting phone call from a Tony Almeida yesterday explaining what had happened over the last few months, and then he asks if he could possibly marry my only daughter."

I'll kill him, she thinks. Another glass of wine is poured and drinking commences as she ponders the almost infinite possible courses this conversation could take.

"I assume this is the same Tony Almeida whom you married a few years ago?" her mother inquires.

"Uh huh," she responds, unable at this moment to recall the correct etiquette and dialogue to be used when one admits to one's mother that one is re-marrying one's ex-husband. She hates that she can't quite read her mother's tone of voice as well as she used to.

"According to him everything is now sorted between you," her mother comments and she can read this tone of voice well. The subtext being "is this another one of those "I'm going to prevent terrorism for a living" type moments where I really can't decide if you're being serious and have thought it through or if you've completely lost your mind?"

"I know what I'm doing," she responds to the subtext rather than the direct question. "Things have changed," she informs her mother. She'd rather not go for the "but I love him," train of conversation, but being aware of her mom's preference for knowing the minutiae of her offspring's relationships she fears that it may be the only eventual route. She mentally beats herself up for not attempting to prepare such an argument.

"Then I'm good with it," her mom responds.

She is entirely taken aback with this comment. This is not how their conversations go. Usually she is adamant that she is doing the right thing, her mom goes through an excellent Spanish inquisition routine, there is some debate and further provision of evidential proof before either side is willing to accept the other's opinion.

Her mom laughs. "Michelle, I know you better than you give me credit for. You've been in love with Tony probably since you first met him and what happened between you two didn't change that. You were so unhappy for such a long time and to tell the truth, I knew something had changed when I last spoke to you. I'm just so glad that you've been able to sort out all your problems and that you're happy again."

She doesn't know quite what to say. "Thanks," she manages.

"Well, I've got to get going. It's bridge night. I'll see you at the wedding. Tony already invited me. I get to buy a new dress I hope," her mother comments wryly.

"Sure. I'll… I'll see you then," she replies, completely off guard.

They say their goodbyes before hanging up.

Half an hour later she is still wondering what the hell happened when she hears the front door open.

"Hey sweetheart," Tony greets her.

"What the hell did you say to my mother?" she demands. He looks at her almost sheepishly. "Because seriously, if you can give me any clues on how to deal with her… Seriously, you are good." She grabs his tie as he nears her, pulling him towards her.

"How good?" he teases.

She kisses him. "Good."

"Only that good?" he questions, mock disappointed.

"Why, what did you have in mind?" she queries.

He inclines his head towards the bedroom door. "Maybe I could show you?"

She grins, raising her eyebrows. "Maybe."

---

She is not as nervous as she had expected.

She puts this down to several factors. Perhaps most prominent being the fact that she has walked down an aisle towards him before. She knew that it was right last time and experience and other more recent events assure her that it is equally as right this time. To know what it feels like to lose him adds greatly to this knowledge.

Additionally it helps that this time she is not being watched by 300 of their family/friends/neighbours/cousin's aunt's dog-walker's sister and the rest of LA. While eventually she was less concerned by this fact last time, she had always preferred the idea of a small ceremony.

This time she does not worry about catering arrangements, or her hair, or anything beyond getting down the aisle as quickly as possible.

It is a small wedding – just immediate family and close friends – and so there are less than 20 people in total.She prefers it this way, and enjoys that she can celebrate it with the people in her life who matter. She is looking forward to not spending all hours of the reception circulating and making nice with people whom she is unlikely ever to see again.

He stands at the end of the aisle, a little older than last time, a little rougher around the edges, but still essentially the same.

She looks at him as he smiles at her and she can't wait for this new episode of her life to begin.

---

The reception is a sit-down dinner at Tony's parent's house, which although is still rather grand, is not to the scale of their previous event.

All 20 sit around a large dining table, no seating plan requiring hours of preparation needed, and she could almost believe that it was a normal family gathering if there wasn't a home-made banner proclaiming "Congratulations Tony and Michelle". Apparently this was a gift from her niece. She loves it.

She sits next to her new husband, who is seemingly unable to keep his hands off her. She doesn't mind this in the least; it is infinitely preferable to being apart from him.

The last six months of her life have been like a dream to her. For nearly a year she felt as if everything was falling apart and then suddenly he was back in her life. It took them hours and days worth of talk to work through all their history and issues, but there were none of the accusations or reprisals that she had anticipated.

And after that everything changed. She handed in her notice at work and almost overnight she was a different person. And then it was just them and their future. For the most part, anyway.

She recalls now with a smile the first time after their separation that he had announced his intentions of making their future together legally binding – and she is so happy that they have been granted a second chance.

She is almost entirely unaware of her surroundings during this reverie until her former and new brother-in-law stands up and clinks his fork against his glass.

"I know you didn't want speeches but what sort of best man would I be if I didn't give at least some sort of a speech? Anyway, having used all my best stories and humiliated Tony enough at the last wedding, I had no material for this speech and so I asked the rest of the family to write down some words or phrases that they wanted to share. I have them here." Rick pauses for a moment to show his audience a handful of cards. "The overwhelming response was along the lines of: "It's lovely that they're together again since we much prefer Michelle to Tony."" Rick has always worked an audience well, and his delivery is near perfect, causing his audience to laugh.

"There are a number of reasons stated for this: Michelle actually calls once in a while, Michelle will come to family gatherings even when sporting events are on, and "does this mean that I'll get a birthday present this year because Aunt Michelle is way better at remembering." So, thanks to Eva for that one."

She grins at her niece Eva's unashamed "it's true" shrug.

"Another common theme was "when are we getting grandchildren/nieces/nephews/cousins?" so, no pressure there. And one entry reads "bread, potatoes, cheese, chicken", but it's entirely possible I accidentally picked up someone's grocery list."

She laughs at her brother-in-law's sense of humour. She has missed it over the past couple of years.

"Anyway, joking apart, you've both had to contend with a lot over the past few years and so we're glad to see you both finally happy again. And we're all exceptionally delighted to be here, celebrating your marriage and commitment to one another. Anyway, if you'd like to raise your glasses, I'd like to propose a toast: To Tony and Michelle: may you have many years of happiness ahead of you. You both deserve it."

Everyone raises their glasses. "Tony and Michelle."

She looks over at her husband and smiles as he gazes openly at her. He leans towards her, whispers in her ear. "I can't believe how lucky I am," he admits. "Last year…" he starts but doesn't finish. He doesn't need to, she understands.

"Was last year," she completes. "And we can't forget that. But this is now. We all love you Tony." She kisses him, unconcerned that the whole of her family is watching. "I love you. We got a second chance. I'd say we're both pretty damn lucky."

"I love you," he tells her. "So, about that demand for grandchildren/nieces/nephews/cousins," he hints with a wry smile.

She laughs. And looks forward to their future.

---

The end.


	11. New Beginnings

A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 11: New Beginnings

Author: Cath

Disclaimer: Characters really aren't mine.

Reviews: Are wonderful.

Notes: Thought you'd seen the last of this, didn't you!

Well, after a brief foray into Lost fandom, I came to my senses and watched 24 series 3 again. The obvious conclusion all along was that I would get back into 24 fic. And because I realised that I missed writing for T&M, here I am, back to finish off this series.

Apologies for the delay!

This goes very much into AU territory: having not seen S5, I am allowed to deny its existence. Really.

---

She has never really considered herself a "baby" person.

In fact, her more frequent mental response to people placing their offspring in front of her has been "well, it's a baby." When necessary, she can get by with the requisite cooing, which she has learned over the years from observation and reactions to inadequate responses. But really – despite her "isn't he gorgeous?", "aren't they lovely at that age?", and her favourite response to screeching children: laughter followed by "he's got a good set of lungs on him, hasn't he?" – her reaction remains: "it's a baby."

This reaction makes her slightly nervous: she feels that her future offspring – due to arrive within weeks – might develop one or two psychological issues from this response.

Tony, in one of his less supportive moments, jokingly commented that it might be a good idea to start setting aside funding for the psychiatrist. This statement was quickly retracted and amended at her glare and querying about whether he wanted to share a bed with her any time in the near future.

Having had time to explain her worries to the fetus, she hopes that it (gender unknown until its birth) will be understanding if initially her abilities as a mother are inadequate. She informs the fetus (also known affectionately as "the bump", "the baby" and "the kid") that it's nothing personal, but she would prefer if it would learn to speak within the first few days, as she will be much more effective when she understands what it wants. Also, if it could stop kicking her at night, she'd really appreciate it.

She's improved with the baby idea over time; her immediate reaction at learning that she was expecting was not as composed as she had hoped despite the fact that it was sort of planned. In fact, after handing over the result to Tony, she was unable to speak for nearly five minutes, as he grinned uncontrollably and informed her that this really was a good thing.

She came round to the idea fairly quickly, but then this thing started taking form inside her, and it was real – they had an ultrasound photo to prove it, which Tony insisted on showing to everyone – and suddenly it struck her that she was going to have a baby. An actual baby that would be there 24 hours a day and wasn't to be rapidly handed over to someone else when its diaper needed changing. Moreover, she was going to be someone's mom. She was going to be responsible for this child's upbringing and everything that was associated with it.

Fortunately, Tony was in a supportive husband mood at the time, and responded well to her insistence that the kid was never going to be born, so help her god. He suggested that she speak to friends with kids, or her brother, who would hopefully allay her fears that she was going to drop the kid on its head, screw it up for life, or leave it behind the couch and forget about it.

Their relationship has changed a lot in the two years since they've left CTU. They're a lot more open, communicative and supportive and as a result more relaxed. They laugh a lot more. And she doesn't feel as though she's alone in this pregnancy.

Underneath the outward anxiety, she is excited about the prospect of the baby. She has fantasies about a well-behaved child that is restful, gorgeous, and looks up to its mommy with wide-eyed adoration.

Then she recalls stories from Tony's mom about his endeavours as a child, and remembers that half the baby's genes come from its father, and that restful and well-behaved might be a bit too much to ask.

Her friends' reactions to her pregnancy have been positive but generally surprised. They are all very excited and interested, and share stories about their own experiences. Unfortunately, only half of these are helpful. The less she hears about being stitched up after the birth, the better.

They want to organise baby showers, and offer name suggestions, and give advice, and she finds it both helpful and overwhelming.

The oddest thing she has found has been stranger's reactions to the bump. People whom she has never met before come up to her in the street, in the supermarket, once even in the bathroom at a restaurant, and want to touch her stomach. She's learned a variety of polite versions of "get the hell away from me." Their fascination bothers her more than a little.

Her mother's response was unexpected.

"Pregnant?" she queried as though the word was foreign.

"That's the word they used," she replied, amused.

"You're going to have a baby?"

"Yes."

"_You're_ going to have a baby?"

"Well, I tried to convince Tony that he wanted to have it, but he thought this way would work out better," she commented.

"You're going to have a _baby_?"

"You can emphasise any part of that sentence you want, mom, it's still true," she remarked, smirking to herself.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Mom, you still there?"

Then she heard the crying.

"Mom?"

"I just… I can't believe it! I thought you'd never have children!" There was more crying. "You're sure of this, aren't you?"

"I'll send you a copy of the ultrasound. Tony's made about a hundred."

There was a pause while her mother got her emotions under control. "You'd better send me at least ten."

She gave Tony the satisfaction of informing his own mother. The resulting conversation lasted approximately half an hour: a good twenty eight minutes longer than his usual phone calls to his parents.

She finds it fascinating that for the most part, Tony seems less anxious about the prospect of their impending arrival than she does.

She's asked him about it on a number of occasions.

"It probably helps that I don't have to give birth to it," he commented once. She wasn't particularly impressed with this answer.

One time, she lay in bed, him lying on his stomach, supported on his elbows, head over the bump. "I don't know why," he replied truthfully. "I guess I've just been waiting long enough and I'm ready now."

"But aren't you scared?" she'd asked.

"A little," he'd responded, "But I'm more excited."

She'd looked at him as he moved her shirt up and kissed her stomach, and started whispering things that she couldn't hear.

"So I can trust you not to faint during the birth?"

"Later sweetheart, I'm talking to the kid."

She laughed.

She thinks a lot about names for the baby. For the first few months they started discussing names, making ever more ridiculous suggestions.

Tony had started it.

"If it's a girl, I think… Michelle Jr."

She'd rolled her eyes at him. "I'm guessing then it would be Anthony Jr. for a boy?"

"Naturally."

He'd called her up once after meeting a client. "Corey Taylor Utah," he'd greeted her, and she was entirely confused.

"Huh?"

"For the kid. We'd call it CTU for short," he'd suggested.

She'd taken a week off work to visit her mom and step-dad, leaving Tony at home, and they'd started each conversation with increasingly silly suggestions.

"Champagne. Cheesecake. Or Las Vegas," he said.

"Theme being?"

"Things that inspired its conception."

"Las Vegas?"

"Yeah. You didn't want me to go with my brother to Las Vegas, so you seduced me with champagne and cheesecake."

"Really. Because I remember that it was you who brought the cheesecake and champagne so that I'd let you go on the bachelor weekend with your brother."

"Huh. Well, the details aren't important."

"I think we should go with something unusual," he'd started the conversation. "We could use the letters in our names to come up with something more creative."

"Like… Tochelle?" she'd offered.

"Or Michony."

One morning he'd waited for her to wake up, then kissed her, grinning. "I've got it."

"What?"

"Wrigley Field."

"Wrigley Field Almeida?"

"Yeah, see it can be for a boy or a girl."

"Wrigley Field Almeida?" she'd repeated, incredulous.

"You don't like it?"

"You want the kid to hate us?"

"When it's a teenager it's gonna hate us anyway. Might as well get ahead of the game."

She starts to think about actual possible names, though. "The kid" or "the baby" may be original, but she thinks that it's possible that social services might get involved for the infliction of cruelty to the child at an early age.

They find it impossible to come up with a conclusive list and eventually an arrangement is agreed to.

"How about," he starts, "you choose a boy's name, and I choose a girl's?"

"Okay. But if I don't like your choice in name, am I allowed to disagree?"

"See, I think you should trust me," he grins.

"I do trust you. I trust you implicitly. Except possibly not in this area."

"Well, how about we choose our names and see what happens."

"Okay," she replies doubtfully.

There are maybe three weeks left until she is due to give birth, and she still cannot decide on a name. She begins to hope that she's having a girl as at least this way she won't have to quickly choose a name after the birth and then have to put up with something that sounded great under the epidural, like Thor, or Ezekiel.

Tony let her know about a week ago that he had chosen his name, but refused to divulge it, stating only that it was not one they had previously discussed. She worries about it, but only a little. She trusts him to make a choice that will take her likes into consideration. Or at least he will if he knows what's good for him.

With three weeks to go, she's increasingly anxious and excited by the hour.

She has never really considered herself a "baby" person, but she's looking forward to giving it her best go. With Tony's help, that's all she can do.

---

End chapter 11.


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